The rain outside continued with a steady monotony and grew louder. It was impossible to judge the passage of time. Hours dragged by, enough, it seemed, to round out several days. Toffee and Marc continued their efforts with the chains, but with a growing sense of futility. "It's no use," Marc said. "My fingers are raw." "We've got to keep trying," Toffee said. Then suddenly they both were quiet as the sound of nearby yawning interrupted the stillness. It had the thoughtless, indolent tone of George about it. They turned expectant eyes toward the scaffolding. Slowly, George faded into view, materializing himself with slow luxury. He yawned a second time and stretched his arms above his head. Then he glanced in their direction and waved with airy insolence. "That's a clubby picture you two make," he commented. "Spending your last hours in romantic rapture." "Louse!" Toffee said. "I'd like to see you spend yours in intolerable agony." "How can you bear me such ill will?" George asked innocently. "Didn't I let you loose last night?" "Stop lolling around," Toffee said, "and come down here." "Sure," George said, and drifted blithely down to the floor. "Something on your mind?" "Yes," Toffee said. "Murder!" "George!" Marc said. "You've got to help us. Regardless of your personal feelings ... or lack of them ... you can't...." George shrugged with great indifference. "What difference does it make to me if they blow up the city?" he asked. "The High Council will be recalling me at any moment now. Let the city go or stay, I won't be around to see it." "How do you kill a ghost?" Toffee murmured. * * * * * Marc glanced in the direction of the Blemishes. It was evident that their labors were nearly at an end. The rain was beating in a steady roar, high on the roof above them. There couldn't be too much time left. He turned decisively toward George. "George!" he said. "I'll make you a proposition. What you want, is to get rid of me forever, isn't it? So you can stay on earth?" "That's the idea," George admitted. "Then listen to me," Marc said, his voice level. "You have no special liking for Cecil and Gerald, so it shouldn't matter to you if they get hurt." He cleared his throat. "If you'll just turn me loose and give me a chance to stop them, I'll let you send me off in the catapult." "Marc!" Toffee cried. She turned to George. "Don't listen to...." "Whether I win or lose, George," Marc said. "You can't!" Toffee cried. "That's suicide!" "Not exactly," Marc said. "If he doesn't finish me off, they will." He turned back to George. "You'll be sure of getting rid of me. And the city will be saved." "Well," George hesitated. "I don't know...." "Hurry," Marc said. "You've got to do it. They're loading the bomb right now. This is your chance to do something decent for once."